


Courtesy Visit

by reizend



Category: Peaky Blinders, Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Swearing, actually more like the loosest interpretation of hurt/comfort ever, fake palm readings, just a little blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-14 19:10:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11214423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reizend/pseuds/reizend
Summary: “How did you get blood on the back of your shirt,” he asked, cocking his head and gesturing to the clothes on the floor.“… fuck if I know,” Alfie muttered.***Rating for language and implied violence as well as implied sexual content.





	1. Drunk and Silent

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to write hurt/comfort, but Alfie and Tommy are both self-absorbed, awful, pieces of shit so it was kind of hard. This is to take place somewhere before Season 3 but post-S2, when Alfie finally finds out who Sabini has in the bakery - and this is assuming that Ollie (despite his lack of appearance in S3) is not that informant.
> 
> Chapter title comes from the song "Solitaire" by Marina and the Diamonds.

Ollie stood outside of the two metal doors that blocked off a large room once used for storage. Now it was used for whatever purpose Alfie had at whatever time he needed it. Today Ollie knew that Alfie found out who had been sneaking information from the bakery to Sabini and he was not happy about it. They’d been at it for hours. The shouting, and wailing, hadn’t stopped for more than a minute. Despite the stone walls and metal doors, Ollie could make out exactly what he was saying; none of it was pretty.

He had instructed Thomas Shelby to stay at the entrance, but the Blinder refused and followed Ollie to the metal doors. He remained quiet and planted himself firmly against the wall, just to the left, and waited for the younger Jew to enter and draw Alfie’s attention. Ollie raised his hand to knock on the doors, but stopped when he heard Alfie shouting again. He winced and waited for the tangent to be over before he heard a whimper of pain and the sound of something heavy hitting the stone floor.

Then, there was a brief moment of silence. Ollie inhaled deeply and pushed the door open, stepped inside the room and stared at the blood spread around. Though the room was dimly lit by a single bulb with no windows to assist it, he could see the shades of crimson littering the area.

“Alfie - uh - Mis - um - Mister Shelby is here,” Ollie timidly announced from the door.

Alfie was hunched over the treacherous employee tied to a chair, while three of his subordinates stood around him; two of them moved to lift the victim into an upright position off the ground. The man’s face was bloodied and bruised, and his breathing was all but audible. Red residue splattered most of Alfie’s white shirt, even the backside, and his face. His hands were red and his cane was slick from the amount of viscous blood running down it. The handle was especially sticky from the number of impacts it had made on the man’s body and face. The baker spit on the battered victim and held out his cane to be taken by the man on his right. He wiped his hands on his shirt and glanced over his shoulder at Ollie.

“Tell him I’m busy. Fuck off.”

“I – I did, Alfie. He won’t leave.”

With a huff, Alfie leaned down to eye level of his current victim and grabbed him by the chin. Though he couldn’t see into his swollen eyes, the baker acted as if he could. “I’m not done with you yet. Hm? You hear me? The boys here will keep you alive until I get back,” he spoke gently before he pat the man’s cheek which elicited a gasp of pain from him. Alfie stood up straight and made a hand gesture to the others in the room. The only sounds heard were the panicked whimpers of the traitor.

“Where’s he at – I’ll tell him to fuck off, myself,” Alfie grunted. Focused on the distillery ahead of him, he hadn’t even noticed Tommy as he stormed out of the room.

“You can tell me that all you like, but I’m not leaving,” Tommy mused with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He cocked a brow and gave Alfie’s bloodied attire a once over.

“Little preoccupied right now, mate. Handling it,” Alfie retorted sharply. “Come back tomorrow.”

“Can’t do that,” Thomas nonchalantly returned his gaze to Alfie’s face. “I’ve got things to do tomorrow.”

“Well I ain’t putting this off for _you,_ I’m getting it done now.”

“Then I’ll wait,” Thomas gestured to the unoccupied office he and Alfie usually met in, across the distillery.

Alfie rolled his eyes and gave Ollie a shove, leaving a faded, pink hand print on the other’s white sleeve.

“Take him over there. Don’t let him touch anything. When I’m done, I’ll be in.”

Ollie obliged and Thomas stared at Alfie for another moment before he nodded. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and put it out on the bottom of his shoe.

The baker returned to the storage room and resumed the savage assault of the man he’d already spent three hours interrogating and battering. The man was going to die whether or not Alfie got the information he wanted; particularly because he was already confident he knew the answers. He played on the man’s fears, shouted, cussed, spit, and threatened him with his own religion.

Although betrayals and backstabbing were essentially anticipated in the business, Alfie took particular offense to the betrayal he’d been encumbered with. It was personal and not simply a ploy for power or ascension in the gang. In fact, betraying Alfie at the level Gersham – the traitor – was at would have done nothing for him on the Jewish side. The only possible gains were monetary, until Sabini ran out of use for him. Surely, he had to know that. His motivations were made clear, through strained breaths, gasps, and between pleas for his life. He was more upset at himself for trusting Gersham and that slow-creeping self-loathing wasn’t something the baker felt often.

He didn’t bother to do the man a courtesy of putting him out of his misery easily. He made certain to cause as much physical harm as possible to him before he made a false promise to set him free. Then, when he was finally done and had gotten his fill of aggression out, Alfie choked him to death with his bloodied hands. When he finished he kicked the corpse and, between panting breaths, gave detailed instructions on what to do with the body in delivering it to Sabini, mutilated and gory.

The baker entered his office, ignoring both Ollie and his guest. Thomas observed that Alfie was substantially bloodier than he had been before. He didn’t comment, however, and simply smoked his cigarette while he watched Alfie fumble around his office for an off-white rag, appearing to be more dirty than sanitary. The baker removed his vest and the bloodied shirt, revealing a slightly cleaner, white one underneath. He dropped the wet shirt to the floor and chose to ignore it. He turned his back to the two and departed the office, disappearing into the restroom where he spent some time scrubbing at the blood on his hands and face.

By the time he returned, it was an hour later. His suspenders hung by his sides and the white shirt he wore was tucked into his trousers. He looked like a man ready to call it a night, as opposed to get started on conversation. He still clutched the damp, off-white rag and scrubbed at his face. He turned toward Thomas, though didn't say anything aside from dismissing Ollie from the room with a quiet “fuck off.” They remained in silence for another moment, until the Blinder finished his cigarette and decided to speak up.

“How did you get blood on the back of your shirt,” he asked, cocking his head and gesturing to the clothes on the floor.

“… fuck if I know,” Alfie muttered, though assumed it must have happened when he was resting his cane on his shoulder. “Why are you here, again?”

Tommy took a short inventory of Alfie's expression and tried to read as much as he could. The man was obviously angry and still full of fire, but he seemed a little off and Tommy wasn’t about to discuss business with a man that couldn’t center himself; particularly over the details of a new potential deal. With Alfie being as unpredictable as he was, there was no guarantee that he would be doing himself any favors trying to take advantage of a somewhat vulnerable Alfie.

“Consider it a courtesy visit,” Thomas mused, sitting upright in his chair. “I was going to talk business, but I suppose you’re not in the mood for that.”

Albeit Alfie would never admit it, he was thankful to avoid the topic of business for now. “Yeah? So what the fuck do you want,” he demanded.

“How about a drink, to start us off,” Thomas suggested, withdrawing a new cigarette and placing it between his lips. He used a match to light it and watched Alfie’s face. Although he was scrubbing at dried blood beneath his beard, he managed to convey an affirmative nod and gestured to the cabinet behind Thomas.

“Right. Get us a glass,” he murmured. He spent a few more seconds scratching the reddened skin, then he placed the cloth down and lowered his hand to retrieve a bottle of white rum from the desk drawer as he took a seat. When Thomas placed the two glasses down on the desk, Alfie poured liquor into both and raised his glass to halfheartedly toast his companion.

“So,” Thomas mused, quickly finishing his drink and placing the glass back down. “Do I get to know what this mystery employee of yours did to set you off?”

“No,” Alfie barked back without hesitation.

“I suppose that’s fair. Your business is your own, though, could you answer me one thing –”

“It ain’t affecting our business,” Alfie mumbled, refilling the glasses and sliding one to Thomas. “It’s personal.”

“Good to know. That’s an awful lot of clothing gone to waste,” he gestured to Alfie’s abandoned attire. “And a lot of time to spend cleaning up, I’m sure.”

Keeping his glare on Thomas, Alfie drank the contents of his glass and waited for Thomas to do the same. He raised the bottle of rum again, this time filling one glass with more than a few fingers worth and pushing it toward the Blinder. “I don’t worry about that, mate. I don’t worry about nothing.”

“Ollie said his name is Gersham.”

“ _Was_ Gersham.”

Thomas finished the cigarette he’d been smoking between drinks and put it out in the ash tray ahead of him. He kept his gaze on Alfie as he slowly nursed the glass of rum he’d been given. Alfie, on the other hand, took a long drink directly from the bottle and exhaled sharply after he swallowed. The best way to fish information out of Alfie was to let him talk until he ran out of steam, something useful he'd learned from the many meetings with his partner.

“Yeah. Turns out, right, he’s been feeding stuff to the Italians this whole fucking time. I knew someone was doing it, yeah, obviously. No honor among thieves and all that but – mate,” Alfie paused and turned his attention to the wall before he began using his free hand to make some grandiose gesture as he leaned back in his chair. “This fucking man – I helped him throw a bat mitzvah for his fucking daughter, eh? I don’t do that for all the lads. I trusted him, right, and I didn’t see it fucking coming.”

Thomas sat quietly and let Alfie rant about Gersham, including some tidbit about ‘Gersham’ meaning ‘exiled’ in Hebrew. Alfie, though he was furious about the betrayal in general, seemed rather accepting of the act itself. What he wasn’t happy with was his own judgment of Gersham. He mentioned several times in his raving that he hadn’t “seen it coming.” Tommy knew exactly what Alfie was talking about; the precise emotion he was feeling on top of betrayed. The one that made him question himself far too many times; the one that felt like a stabbing, jarring pain in the gut every time he tried to make a decision. This particular feeling couldn’t be dispelled even with all the liquor and opium in the world; no medicine could wash away the pain in the head; it ached from the very base of his skull to the front. It was something to make even the most hardened gangster doubt himself.

Finally, Alfie’s aggressive ranting calmed down and as he was taking a drink to finish off the bottle of rum, Thomas decided what he was going to reply with. He sipped from the glass before he lit a new cigarette and placed the glass down.

“I thought they were called bar mitzvahs,” he casually stated, his eyes focused on the cigarette.

“What –” Alfie paused and returned his attention to Thomas. “No, well, yeah. Bar mitzvahs for boys, right, and bat mitzvahs are for girls.”

“I didn’t know that. What's the difference?”

“Same thing, mate, just different names for the boys and girls.”

“I see,” Thomas mumbled, then took a drag of his cigarette and blew smoke toward Alfie. “You learn something new every day," he referred to both the -mitzvah difference as well as all the candid information Alfie had given him.

“Yeah – right.”

“I don’t suppose that’s the only bottle you’ve got to share,” he motioned briefly to the now-empty bottle of rum Alfie placed on the desk.

“Whisky or rum,” he asked, rising from his seat and turning his back to Thomas once more.

“I thought 'whisky was for business,'” he borderline mocked.

“You boys like your Irish whisky, don’t you. Figure I can make an exception.”

“Rum is fine,” Thomas said before he finished what was left of his drink.

The pair poured the liquor relatively evenly between their glasses. Alfie made some bitter conversation about his former employee and Thomas simply listened. When it came time to talk, Tommy only mentioned little things and expressed that he understood Alfie’s disappointment in himself. Though neither would ever admit to openly second-guessing themselves, they understood each other on a level that only they could. Before they knew it, they were already opening a third bottle to share.

The conversation departed the topics of self-loathing and insubordination, in favor of lighter topics. They compared notes on the differences between Jewish and Gypsy parties. Alfie briefly brought up Arthur, to which Thomas informed him of his brother’s new attachment to religion. He then quickly discarded that piece of conversation and picked up another; making more inquiries about the bakery front. Things quickly dwindled down to the two sharing fond memories of a post-war England, the parties they’d attended, casual use of cocaine, and generally good feeling conversation.

Towards the end of the third bottle, Alfie began making jokes about Tommy’s Gypsy heritage.

“Maybe I should’ve asked _you_ lot who was going to be led astray, eh,” he laughed as he finished off the last of his glass and shook the empty bottle.

Thomas cracked a smile at the suggestion and placed his glass down, not having touched it for several minutes. He felt warm inside and knew he was drinking a bit too fast in comparison to his normal rate. The liquor had crept up on him and he was powerless to make the incoming intoxication abate.

“Maybe you should have,” was all he could muster in response.

“Mate, you gonna drink that,” Alfie asked, gesturing to the abandoned drink.

Thomas looked down at it and shook his head, then pushed the glass toward Alfie. The baker inhaled the drink in a single swig, and then placed the glass down.

“So, what’s it. Do you lot actually tell fortunes or is that all just a big fucking scam like I said,” Alfie returned to the conversation.

“Depends who you ask,” Thomas mused and raised his shoulders up, a bit too inebriated to further elaborate.

“Okay, what’s my fortune then, eh, Tommy? Do I got another one of these coming?”

Tommy stared at Alfie for a moment before he managed to retrieve a cigarette and placed it in his mouth. He turned his gaze away only to light the stick; afterwards his glossed-over stare was directed back to his companion.

“Give me your hand,” he demanded, standing up and rounding the desk to stand next to Alfie.

The baker obliged, with his right hand, and turned in his chair to face Thomas. Taking the offered hand, Thomas held it palm-up and lowered himself to a squat in front of Alfie. He kept the cigarette between his lips as he ran a finger over the various lines on the other’s hand. After a brief series of ‘ _hm_ ’s, Thomas pulled the cigarette from his lips and cast the smoke downwards. He touched the center of Alfie’s palm and followed a line toward his forefinger.

“This one says your future is full of hardship and pain,” he spoke, then shifted his eyes up to meet Alfie’s. “You have a hard life ahead of you.” He then looked back down as he traced another line that led toward the middle finger. “This one says you’ll experience some betrayal and you will betray,” his slurred muttering elicited a laugh from Alfie and he returned the cigarette to his mouth. “But,” he spoke, lifting his gaze again, and laid his palm flat against Alfie’s, effectively caressing his entire hand with both of his own on either side. “You will find fortune - whether or not it’s enough for you is beyond my _vision_.”

The two stared at each other in silence for a moment before Thomas could no longer refrain from smirking; his attempt at reading palms an obvious joke. They both let out a short burst of drunken laughter before Alfie grabbed a hold of Thomas’ hand and leaned forward, cocking his head to the side. “Right, and what about fucking, eh?”

“Of course, one of those lines says ‘you’re Alfie Solomons of Camden Town, you can fuck whenever you want.’”

“And what do those lines say about _tonight_ , mate.”

“I was going to suggest cash for your reading, but I suppose that's one form of payment.”


	2. Better Than That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don't recall sending - uh,” he coughed, “- sending for you.” He was preparing to apologize for an erroneous telegram, letter, or phone call he may have sent.
> 
> “Right, because you didn't,” Alfie nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make it as vague as possible considering S4 is ... somewhere on the horizon, but this is pretty clearly after the S3 finale. Cue brief Ollie cameo because I love and miss him.

When Alfie had been made aware of what had happened with the Shelby family, two things stood out to him: first, their deal in place and how it would be affected. Second, Thomas Shelby had no one left. Initially, he was going to leave it alone and wait for Thomas to call him. When nothing happened, he called the Gypsy in hopes of getting some sort of clarity on the situation. The phone went unanswered, even by the old maid. He gave it a few hours and then he called again. By the end of the night, he had called the home four times, the Garrison twice, and Ada Shelby’s home twice.

He called Thomas’ home a fifth time, the next morning, to which the phone was lifted from its resting spot, but nothing was said. The call was disconnected shortly after.

“Ollie,” Alfie shouted as he hung up the phone and stepped out of his office.

“Yeah?” Ollie followed behind him and tilted his head.

“Go get the car started. I got a trip to make.”

“Should I get Hiram –”

“No, I’m going alone. Just get the fucking car started.”

Ollie quickly obliged and ducked back as Alfie approached his exit. He untied the apron around his waist and tossed it aside. He picked up his long black coat and pulled it on. After he was comfortable, he placed his white scarf atop it and followed it with the placement of his homburg. He picked up his cane before he departed the distillery, where he spotted Ollie stepping out of the car just as he rounded the street corner.

“Where are you going, Alfie?”

“I got business, yeah? You take care of everything here until I get back.”

“When are you coming back?”

“When I fucking come back,” Alfie impatiently hissed and shoved by Ollie. The younger Jew nodded and returned to the bakery-portion of the distillery as Alfie got himself settled in the vehicle.

**.               .               .**

It had taken Alfie nearly four hours to complete the drive from his London shop to the Warwickshire mansion. As he pulled up the driveway, the time was nearing eleven forty-three in the morning. Gray clouds surrounded the mansion and a particularly dark and ominous one perched itself just behind the center of the roof. The only car visible was parked askew near the front of the house, where all the curtains were drawn.

Alfie parked himself next to Thomas’ car and used his cane to steady himself as he stepped on to the gravel. He knocked on the front door and waited. He didn’t hear any immediate response from the other side, no signs of life or movement. For the duration of his wait, he contemplated just how easy it would be for him to break into the house, as opposed to wait for some answer. However, as he knocked a second time, louder than the first, he decided he would give Thomas exactly one minute before he broke in through some other fashion.

As he was counting down the last twenty seconds, he glanced to the nearest window and supposed that would be his quickest and quietest way in, unless he were to go through some door in the back. He tapped his cane on the step and considered going to the back of the house as he chewed the inside of his cheek. He could hope the back door was unlocked and unguarded for the easiest access.

“Three … two … one. Alright, Tommy, the hard way it is,” Alfie mumbled to himself, turning his back to the door. Just as he took a step away, he heard the lock on the other side of the door turn. He glanced over his shoulder to spot the door being pulled open and the skinny, ghost-like frame of Thomas Shelby wearing nothing but his loose pants appeared. Alfie took a moment to face the man again and took in the pathetic sight before him.

Although the Gypsy was already pale, he seemed a somewhat sickly-pale. There were bags under his bloodshot eyes and dried blood crusted his nostrils. His lips were chapped and there seemed to be nothing encouraging him to shave off the subtle stubble that was showing. In his right hand, he clutched a bottle of Irish whisky by the neck. The only good thing about his stature was that it appeared he must have been eating something, at least once in a while.

“… Oh, Tommy, no,” Alfie cooed, cocking his head to the side as his eyes traveled their way back up to meet his. “You can do better than that, Tommy.”

“… Mister Solomons,” Thomas muttered in question, squinting at Alfie. He reached a hand forward and touched the other’s beard, as if testing to see if he was real. Alfie simply stared back at him, unmoving.

“Aye, _Mister Shelby_.”

Thomas remained quiet as he dropped his hand lethargically to his side and turned his back to his guest. He retreated back into the home and Alfie took the open door as an invitation to follow. He closed the door as he stepped inside and stayed after him, keeping his distance as he did so. Passing through the home on their way to Thomas' office, Alfie observed the dying flowers that adorned several tables and shelves. The home was dimly lit and shards of a few broken glass bottles littered the floor with empty cigarette boxes.

The office wasn't in much better shape. The curtains were drawn, making the room especially dark until Thomas turned on the desk lamp, and the chairs were on their sides, spread out across the room. One vase was shattered and left in pieces in one far corner while Thomas' desk looked to be a disaster of its own. Alfie bent down to stand up one of the chairs while Thomas languidly sat himself behind his desk. He rummaged through it in search of something and avoided all visual contact with Alfie.

He cleared his throat with a hefty cough and placed the whisky bottle down on the top of the surface. “I don't recall sending - uh,” he coughed, “- sending for you.” He was preparing to apologize for an erroneous telegram, letter, or phone call he may have sent until his companion spoke.

“Right, because you didn't,” Alfie nodded, pushing the chair closer to the desk and taking a seat.

This brought Thomas some pause. He retrieved the crushed package of cigarettes he had been searching for and pulled out the last stick inside. “... _why_ are you in my home,” he asked, keeping his eyes on the cigarette as he lit it with a lighter, after several clumsy clicks of the flint wheel.

Alfie rolled his shoulders and watched the cigarette, as well. “What's it - _a courtesy visit,_ eh?”

“... so, you're here to kill me.”

Alfie stared at him, incredulously, although Thomas didn't return eye contact.

“You heard what happened and now you're taking advantage of the situation," Thomas assumed, blowing the smoke downwards before he lifted his head and kept his eyes closed. “If you're here for that, then at least do me _the courtesy_ ,” he paused and cleared his throat. “... the courtesy of letting me finish the smoke.”

Alfie waited a few moments before he stood up and swiftly took off his coat and scarf. He laid them on the back of the chair and proceeded to unbutton his vest. Subsequently, he removed his hat and tossed it aside before he loomed over Thomas' desk and propped himself up with both his hands.

“Thomas.”

“I'm not done yet,” he replied and allowed another puff of smoke to travel toward the aggressor. “Just another minute.”

“Fucking _look at me_ , Tommy,” Alfie growled, ignoring the smoke. Tommy waited a few seconds before his tired, blue stare met his companion's.

“I ain't here to fucking kill you, mate. ’Fact, I came here to make sure no one had done what you're accusing me of wanting to do to you, right.”

Thomas displayed confusion at the words. Unwilling to try and unravel them, he squinted at Alfie and scowled. “ _What._ ”

With a moment of silence that could kill between them, the two remained locked in their stares.

“I _said_ ,” Alfie finally spoke sharply. “I came to make sure no one's fucking done you in.”

“No, you wouldn't do that.”

“Yeah? Funny you say that, considering I'm standing in front of you. Though, maybe I should be more concerned with you trying to fucking kill yourself.”

“I don't need your help or a lecture.”

“Figure you might need something.”

“What do you want? Money? I don't have anything to give you.”

“Did I fucking _ask_ for money, mate.”

“Nothing's free, Alfie. Even if it’s you showing up at my house unannounced.”

Frustrated, Alfie pushed himself off of the desk and began to roll up his white sleeves as he paced around the chair he had been sitting in. “Oi, Tommy, you feel guilty, do you,” he casually remarked, taking his time and keeping his eyes focused on his left sleeve. “Because of you, right, your family's fucked for who knows how long and, let's be honest, yeah, they probably fucking hate you, don't they. You know what happens in prison.”

Thomas glared at Alfie as he spoke.

“Yeah, right, I get it, it's your family, innit,” he huffed. “And they mean fucking everything to you, don't they. But you remember _where we are_ , lad. You remember _what we do_. Prison sentences come and go, and, fuck, if you ain't done them some good –”

“Alfie. Shut the fuck up.“

“And fuck knows how much time they deserve - never mind how much time _we_ deserve. At least, according the laws of this _great_ country of ours.”

“ _Alfie_ ,” Thomas protested louder, tightly holding the unfinished cigarette between his fingers.

“Honestly mate, they ought to be thanking you for all you managed to pull out of your fucking ass.”

The sound of wood sliding on the floor indicated to Alfie he'd succeeded. Thomas stood up and crushed his cigarette into the ash tray before he rounded the desk to approach Alfie on the opposing side of the office. “Say one more thing about my fucking family, Alfie! One more _fucking_ thing.”

Alfie straightened up, finished rolling his sleeves over his elbows and narrowed his eyes on Thomas. “They're paying their _fucking_ –”

He was cut off by Thomas' fist colliding with his left cheek. He had seen it coming, but decided to give Thomas the first hit. He staggered only a few paces backwards and aptly rebutted against the Blinder. Rings still on his fingers, he threw a punch aimed for Thomas' bare stomach and pulled his hand back as soon as he'd made contact.

“You want to fucking hit me, Tommy, then fucking _hit me_ ,” he taunted.

Thomas grunted and held his stomach for a moment before he gathered his composure and punched Alfie again, trying to make contact with the same spot. Alfie batted his hand away without any effort. Thomas let out a growl before he cocked his arm back and attempted to hit the right side of his face. Alfie backed himself away just enough, but hadn't anticipated Thomas lunging at him with a right hook prepared and aimed at his chin.

As the fist made contact, Alfie staggered backwards again and ran his hand over his jaw. He spit on the floor and licked his split lip. With a smirk on his face, he nodded to Thomas. “That's more like it, lad,” he commented, which only resulted in a more fiery glare in return. The Shelby tensed his face before he made another lunge for Alfie, forcing him back against the wall they had been headed towards. His hands quickly found their way to the baker's throat and he squeezed as tightly as he could. The other raised his own hands up and brought them down on Thomas' elbows, immediately releasing the hold.

The Blinder, however, then grabbed on to Alfie's collar and pulled him downwards. He brought his knee up to meet Alfie's stomach, causing him to grunt at the connection. In retaliation, Alfie used both hands to shove Thomas to the side and stood himself up. As Thomas regained his composure, dizzy from inebriation, Alfie rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. Laden with gold rings, he raised his fist and delivered a strong punch to his opponent’s face. In the midst of the recuperation period, Alfie dug his fingers into Thomas' bare shoulder and yanked him forward before he delivered a short barrage of punches to his stomach.

Pity then took over in Alfie and he forcefully pushed Thomas, releasing him from his hold and sending the other man to the floor. Thomas panted as he held his stomach and glared at Alfie from his fetal position. Alfie shook his head and turned his back to Thomas, thinking it might give him some privacy to have whatever emotions he was going to have. He rested his hands on his hips and dropped his head to stare at the floor as he muttered in his thick, slurred accent.

“If you're gonna hit someone, you should make sure you're gonna be able to fight back, even if you're fucked off your ass –”

Alfie was interrupted by Thomas forcefully kicking the back of his leg, causing him to fall to his knees. The Blinder quickly followed it up with pulling Alfie to the ground and forcing him on to his back. Caught up by not only Thomas' sudden movements, but the soreness the collision with the floor had caused in his back, Alfie immediately succumbed to Thomas' attempts to control the grapple. He ignored Alfie's pained huffing and grunting, finding himself situated on Alfie's chest. In a fleeting moment of coherency, he pinned one of the baker's shoulders and clenched his other hand into a tight fist. He shouted and made purchase twice on Alfie's face before the baker managed to catch the assaultive fist. Thomas lifted his hand from the pinned shoulder, but before he could strike, Alfie snatched his wrist. In the struggle, the baker released the fist and held his opponent by both of his wrists. Thomas struggled to free himself from Alfie's hold before he stopped to pant and catch his breath.

Alfie was thankful for the brief break in violence in order to regain some composure. In this moment, it was the first time Alfie noticed the blood slowly trailing out of Thomas' nose and the wound he'd given him on the left side of his mouth. He figured their faces likely mirrored each other in wounds, considering the damage given and the force behind each hit.

In a hazy and hasty decision, Thomas leaned forward, almost as if he was going to head butt Alfie, and crashed their mouths together. He bit down on Alfie's lower lip, eliciting a pained grunt, and half-expected the man to throw him to the side. When he wasn't thrown, he decided to go about his not-so-romantic kiss in a different way; anything to make it more uncomfortable for Alfie. As he released Alfie's lip, his own was quickly assaulted by his opponent, to his surprise. He hissed and cussed into Alfie's mouth before they finally parted.

“Let me go,” Thomas breathed out, still tugging on his wrists caught in Alfie's tight hold. Alfie only grit his teeth, reeling slightly from the pain in his right leg. His grip on Thomas' wrists tightened for a moment before they loosened, though not enough for him to pull free. “I'll do it again,” he attempted to threaten.

“ _Will you_ ,” was challenged in response.

Unwilling to back down from the taunt, Thomas haphazardly crashed their mouths together again and felt their teeth grind against each other. His attempt to bite on to his lip again went unsuccessful as Alfie captured his mouth first. Thomas pressed his own weight into the kiss while Alfie returned the pressure by pulling himself upward with Thomas' wrists. They bit each other and grunts from either side came as the kiss gradually became less violent and dominance was the goal.

Neither being willing to withdraw from the challenge, they held their kiss of bitter rivalry, even as Alfie released Thomas' wrists and rested his hands on the other's sides. It lasted only a few moments before a subtle turn of his body had Alfie digging his fingers into Tommy's skin and biting his own tongue. The two split again, this time due to the surge of pain that rushed down Alfie's leg, causing the rest of him to tense up as he cursed aloud.

Thomas gasped at the sudden pressure on his sides, but managed to pull himself out of Alfie's grasp and took notice of his expression. After the initial pain passed, Alfie relaxed and panted slightly, pushing himself up on his arms and shaking his head. “Fucking - _fuck_. Help me up, mate,” he growled, not being one to accept assistance very often. Thomas took his hand and helped to pull Alfie up, who instantly found stability by leaning on Thomas' desk again. He shook away Thomas' pale hand and wrinkled his nose as the pain began to recede.

“My coat, Tommy,” Alfie gestured to the coat that somehow remained on the chair throughout their battle

Curiously, Thomas retrieved the coat and held it out to Alfie. “You're leaving?”

"Fuck off," Alfie hissed, making himself comfortable against the desk and snatching the coat. He began to dig through the pockets until he found what he was looking for. He retrieved two, unopened boxes of Sweet Afton cigarettes and held them out to Thomas. “For you,” was all he muttered.

With a brow raised, Thomas took the boxes and shook them, expecting them to be empty or some joke gift of the like. Alfie tossed his coat back toward the chair and dropped his hand to his trouser pockets. After a moment, he retrieved a box of matches and placed them on the desk, immediately next to where he was leaning. Thomas opened a box and retrieved a cigarette, then put the gifts across the desk and swiped a match from his companion’s stash.

“I didn’t come here to fight you, right,” Alfie casually remarked, leaning backwards against the desk and keeping his eyes focused on the wall across from him.

“I know,” Thomas muttered as he expelled some of the smoke upwards.

“Honestly, I expected to find you either shot to death or hung from your neck, eh?”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah. Likewise, I guess,” he huffed and straightened himself up. “Where’s your boy at?”

“I told Mary to take him to Ada’s before I did something stupid.”

Alfie nodded in acknowledgement, but wasn’t about to tell Thomas how to parent his child. If he trusted the maid well enough, that was his choice. “Good on you, mate.”

“Mm.”

“What're you going to do?”

“... I have an idea or two,” Thomas commented as he expelled some smoke ahead of him. He crossed his arms over his chest and held the cigarette between his lips. “It depends how things go from here.”

“Yeah? Figured you might.”

“If you're worried about the –”

“I ain't worried about nothing,” Alfie interjected, quirking his brow and raising his shoulders. “You're alive, I ain't got nothing to be worried about.”

Thomas paused at the comment and took a drag of the cigarette before he looked to the floor, where the two of them had just spent the better half of a few minutes tangled in some petty mouth-based war.

“What happened here was,” Thomas cleared his throat and gestured to the floor.

“I ain't saying I'm ready for another go.” Alfie shifted against the desk and scoffed quietly, trying to hide all sense of vulnerability due to the soreness from his sciatica. “But if you're ready, I'll do it. I don't fucking care.”

Thomas cast a glance to Alfie, meeting his stare. “Another go?”

He raised his shoulders in a short shrug and nodded his head.

“If that's a challenge, Alfie ...”

“It is what it fucking is, innit.”

The Blinder's stare was averted briefly, focusing on the ash tray on his desk. He turned and took one last drag of the stick before he put it out in the tray with the remnants of many before it. “I know neither of us are apt to decline a challenge, even one so petty as this,” he acknowledged, shifting his stare back to Alfie. Unsure of what that was supposed to insinuate, Alfie was prepared to bark something back to defend himself or counter the perceived insult with his own.

In a swift movement, Thomas stood in front of him and grabbed a tight hold of his collar. With a firm tug, he pulled Alfie's face toward his own and for the third time of their own volition, he closed his eyes and mashed his mouth to his companion's. Despite the surprised grunt that followed from Alfie, the baker was quick to return the force and aggression behind Thomas' kiss. He may have still been in a bit of pain, but vying for dominance in the kiss was paramount. Alfie quickly slipped one of his hands to the back of Thomas' head and took over control until he finally forced the Shelby to separate from him.

“But,” Thomas protested in a quick breath, raising a hand to Alfie's mouth and preventing further contact. “Considering both our states - perhaps some clean up and recovery ought to be priority before we move this to the auxiliary bedroom, aye?”

“... few drinks might move the recovery process along a bit faster, mate.”

“I think I can oblige that.”

“Good lad,” Alfie mumbled behind the hand before it was removed. In response, he removed his hand from Thomas’ head and stared up at the ceiling as he stretched his back.

“The bed ought to be kinder to your back, too,” Thomas quipped as he pushed himself off of the desk and smirked while he departed the office, leaving Alfie to follow at his own leisure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the Alfie/Tommy hurt/comfort no one ever asked for. I like to imagine Alfie's "conflict resolution" is always inclusive of instigating violence.
> 
> Charlie and Mary are out in London somewhere. Don't ask me, I don't have a baby.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
